Something New
by moviegeek03
Summary: Illya couldn't show weakness. No matter how much he hurt, or how bad that annoying cough got. He was the muscle for their team. He couldn't get sick. Right?


_"_ _I've got this Peril. This is a piece of cake! Waverly wants me to be an art thief. I don't even have to act this time."_

Napoleon's cocky words echoed through Illya's foggy mind as he took another hit to the side of his head, sending him to the ground. He couldn't see his partners. Couldn't tell where they were. Couldn't tell if they were safe. Couldn't tell if they were still alive.

His attempts to stand earned him a boot to the ribs. He felt them crack as his breath was sucked from his lungs. Things had gotten out of hand and gone to hell.

This wasn't supposed to happen. This should have been the damn piece of cake that Solo had expected it to be. Not…whatever this was.

The mission was simple, simpler than Rome and Istanbul and all the others the team had faced in the last month. Waverly needed them to infiltrate an underground art market; their sources lead them to believe that pieces lost during The War were being fenced within the ring. Napoleon was to pose as an art thief alongside his wife, Gaby. It was his area of expertise after all.

Illya was the muscle, his supposed area of expertise.

It wasn't anything new. Illya was used to being the muscle. It was all his trainers and handlers ever saw him as. It was his job. He was the protector. But it was damn hard to do a job when he couldn't even see straight.

His vision blurred as another blow came. Illya was strong and could easily foil any enemy. But his opponents were bigger, and there were too many for Illya to handle on his own.

The men had seemingly come out of nowhere. They'd swarmed the warehouse in seconds, sending it into chaos moments later. Their boss, Peterson, must have alerted them. He must have recognized Napoleon. He had to have. Despite Waverly's assurances that the men had never crossed paths with Napoleon during The War, Napoleon was well known. They should have expected this. Should have planned for this. Illya should have planned for this.

But he hadn't and his team would pay the price if he didn't step up his game. His chest was on fire and his head ached terribly. He tasted blood from his split lip and busted nose. Breathing had become more difficult and black spots danced across his vision.

He wanted to pass out; he felt like he was ready to give into the pain. But he couldn't. Not when his team needed him.

One of the men swung at him, catching him in the ribs again. This time, Illya managed to grab his wrist at the last moment and pull him forward, knocking the man off balance. He used the new opportunity to his advantage and managed to quickly knock the man out.

The others were still there, quickly stepping up in their friend's place. Illya took more hits, felt his ribs protest all the more under the continued assault. He kept moving; he didn't have a choice.

"Illya!"

He looked to the side, finally finding Gaby now that he had dispersed of some of Peterson's men. Whatever relief he felt at hearing her voice was short lived. Peterson had guns aimed at both her and Napoleon.

Illya saw red and found another burst of energy that he didn't think he had left. He tried his damnedest to ignore the blows raining down on him, striking out just as quickly against the men. It wasn't long until the men were on the ground, no longer a problem.

Peterson remained a threat, holding the guns steady. Napoleon was obviously trying to divert the attention onto himself, but Peterson never wavered. Illya could see Gaby trembling from across the room. This didn't look good.

Illya tried to take a deep breath, but it caught in his chest. Adrenaline was keeping some of the pain at bay, but he was hurting. He just couldn't stop. He had to save his partners. He couldn't fail them. That wasn't an option.

He had lost his own weapons during the scrimmage, but he quickly found a knife and gun on a fallen opponent. He had to be meticulous, calculating in his moves. One wrong step and Peterson could fire on his frie—partners.

Illya kept quiet. Peterson's attention remained on Gaby and Napoleon. He hadn't noticed Illya yet. Illya used it to his advantage. He slipped out a nearby door and made his way around the outside of the building. He may not have planned on Napoleon being outed, but he had researched the layout of the warehouse. He knew there was another door to the office Peterson was using. He just had to get to it. He had to be quick enough. Napoleon and Gaby were depending on him.

For once, luck was on his side. He found the door without being seen. Peterson must have called all his men inside earlier. At least, he hoped. Illya peered through the small window at the top of the door, making sure to keep his body pressed against the cold steel of the wall. He needed the advantage of a surprise attack. He wasn't sure his body could handle another fight. He wasn't sure that Peterson wouldn't fire if he caught the agent either.

Illya didn't have many options. Peterson's back was to the door, thankfully. But Illya couldn't fire at him. Gaby and Napoleon were directly in front of him at this point. Napoleon must have pulled Gaby in behind him somehow. Regardless, there was the risk of the bullet going through Peterson and landing in Napoleon. It wouldn't do.

Illya sighed and sent a silent prayer that the door wouldn't creak. He had not choice but to go inside. He couldn't risk shooting his partners.

The door slid open with little noise. Peterson was too busy yelling threats at Napoleon to notice. Napoleon caught sight of Illya as he crept into the room and began talking louder and quicker to the angry man, ensuring that Illya could come up behind him without being noticed as easily.

It worked. Illya managed to get close enough to take the man by surprise. He grabbed him from behind, making sure to pull the guns away from his partners as he did so. Peterson fired at random, surprised to be pulled backwards. The bullets lodged in the wooden cabinets off to the side, missing his partners completely. Illya knew he couldn't drag out a fight. Not after the beating he had already taken. He sunk the stolen knife into Peterson's chest. It was a sloppy kill, but it was successful nonetheless. Peterson slumped to the ground, dragging Illya's exhausted body with him.

Illya startled when a hand reached out to pull him up at the last minute. He tried to get back into a fight stance, but his body wouldn't allow it.

"Easy Peril."

Illya blinked slowly and finally took in Napoleon's face. He looked to his shoulder, realizing it was his partner's hand that had grabbed him. Illya sighed in relief before turning his eyes to Gaby.

"Are you okay?"

"Thanks to you," she replied, grabbing his other arm to help steady him.

"I'm fine too, thanks for asking," Napoleon grumbled. "You're the one who looks like he went a couple rounds with Cassius Clay."

"I do not understand," Illya grunted as he tried to stand up straight. His ribs protested his every move.

"We'll fix that. Waverly has got to send us on a mission in the states at some point. I'll snag us tickets to one of his fights. I managed to see him back during the 1960 Olympics you know."

Illya zoned out as Napoleon continue to drone on about the fighter. His head was muddled and everything hurt. Gaby's touch brought him back again. Her fingers softly brushed against the bruises and cuts on his face, causing him to wince.

"I'm sorry," she said.

Illya nodded, not knowing what to say. People didn't apologize to him, especially not when he got hurt. He didn't know what to say.

"Can you stand?" Napoleon asked. Illya hadn't even noticed that the other man had knelt down beside him. Both he and Gaby stared at him with concerned looks.

"Of course," he replied, trying to sound more confident in his answer than what he actually was. In truth, he felt like his legs would give out again. But he couldn't let the others know that. What good would he be to the team if he did?

He shook off Napoleon's hands and pushed himself upright. Illya would have fallen had Napoleon not been fast and ready to grab him. He held onto Illya's arm and gave him time to steady himself. Gaby looked on worriedly but said nothing. Illya kept quiet throughout the interaction, silently allowing Napoleon to help despite the fact that his brain was screaming for him to pull away and prove he could do it himself. To prove he wasn't weak.

"Will you be okay while I radio Waverly for an extraction and clean up crew?"

"I-"

"I'll keep an eye on him," Gaby interrupted.

Napoleon nodded and walked away to radio Waverly. Gaby turned back to Illya, looking him over as if she was cataloguing his injuries.

"I am fine," he urged.

She bit her lip and rolled her eyes. "You don't look it. You look like you are going to be one giant bruise."

The words dried in his throat. She wasn't too far off. His chest ached and his face throbbed. He could feel broken ribs move a little with each breath and blood slip down his chin from a split lip. He was a mess. He just wished it wasn't so obvious.

Gaby pressed herself up on her toes and placed a chaste kiss to the side of his cheek, somehow missing the blood and bruises. "Thank you for the rescue."

Illya's lips twitched into a hint of a smile. It hurt to do so, but it was worth it for the smile Gaby gave in return.

Things passed in a blur from that point on. Napoleon contacted Waverly, who managed to send in a clean up crew and a helicopter for extraction. Waverly sent medics over at some point, but Illya shook them off. He just wanted to be home in their London flat.

Illya could barely keep his eyes opened once they all folded themselves into the helicopter. Gaby must have pulled him against her side at some point during the flight. He woke up in London with his head leaning against her shoulder and his ribs protesting at the awkward position.

"So the bear has awoken from his slumber," Napoleon teased as his climbed out of the helicopter.

"Hmmm," Illya grumbled.

"Come on boys," Gaby sighed, tugging Napoleon towards the awaiting car. She slid into the driver's seat while Napoleon helped Illya into the back. The Russian continued to grumble and tried to shake off Napoleon's hands, but he kept a firm grip.

"Take it easy, Peril."

Illya gave in with a huff and allowed his partner to help him into the car. He was once again pressed tightly into the space, putting added pressure on his ribs. Gaby thankfully drove faster than normal to get back to their place. The spies, or Uncle Waverly's nephew, niece and nephew in law as Waverly lead the neighbors to believe, were never more relieved to see their newfound home approaching.

Once they were finally inside and doors were locked behind them, Illya made a beeline to his room. He grabbed his toiletries and some pajamas before entering the bathroom. He slowly shed himself of his soiled clothes so that he could examine the damage done.

His face was a mess of blood and bruises. He had what appeared to be the beginnings of a black eye given the redness and swelling blooming around it. Blood continued to leak from his lip and a little from his nose as well. Once his shirt was off, he could see how bad his chest looked. The skin was purpling and swollen. No wonder breathing hurt.

He sighed and continued to make his way to the shower. He'd gotten used to painful breathing lately anyway. Ever since his near drowning, his chest had felt tight and a cough had lingered. He could get used to shallow breaths for a little longer. He would have to. There was no way he could let the others see him like this. He couldn't show them how weak he felt. How bad he looked.

The water helped ease the ache in his muscles, but further drained him of energy. He managed to clean the blood from his body and apply makeshift bandages to his chest and abdomen. He then sluggishly pulled on his pajama pants and a soft shirt to cover the damage before going back to his bedroom.

"You can not stay here."

Illya startled at the sudden voice in the darkened room. He found the light switch and soon saw Gaby sitting idly on his bed with a stubborn look on her face. She didn't want him to stay? Where could he go?

"I'm sorry," he muttered, not sure what else to say.

She stood and stepped close to him, reaching up to run a hand gently around the bruises on his face. "You should come out to the common room. Stay on the couch. It is warmer. Your room is too cold."

Illya couldn't help how his shoulders sagged in relief at her words. "I'm fine."

Gaby rolled her eyes. "Your face says otherwise." She turned back to the bed and gathered up pillows and blankets. "Come. The couch will be warmer." She rubbed his shoulder and guided him towards the door. "I will get an ice pack for your face. Do you need another for anywhere else?"

"No," Illya said, not wanting to give away his other injuries. "I told you. I am fine."

Gaby sighed but didn't argue any further. She simply pushed Illya toward the couch and helped get him set up. She fluffed pillows and spread out the old blanket he had managed to snag from his old Russian apartment before their missions. It was one of the few possessions he kept.

"Where's Solo?"

"He ran out to the store. We don't have food in the cupboards. We expected this mission to last longer and hadn't called ahead for deliveries." She ran to the kitchen for ice and returned to his side. "Here." She carefully laid the ice along the bruising. "Do you want to sleep until Napoleon comes back with dinner or can I bring you something? A book perhaps?"

"I do not own any. I—"

"Oh," Gaby interrupted. She scurried into her room. Illya could hear the shuffling of items and clatter of falling objects. She returned with a beat up hardback clutched in her hands.

" _Pride and Prejudice_?" he asked with a raised brow.

"All I have right now," she shrugged. "Give it a try. You may like it."

"Hmph," Illya grumbled, picking up the book and flipping through it nonetheless. It earned him a small smile from Gaby, and a fair amount of teasing from Napoleon once he returned from the store.

"Never took you as a romantic, Peril," Solo commented, moving past the common room and into the kitchen.

Illya opened his mouth to respond, but a painful cough halted his words.

"Illya?" Gaby approached the couch where he lay.

"It is nothing. I am fine." He cleared his throat and waved her off.

She gave him a concerned look. "You'll tell us if that changes, won't you?"

"Course I will," Illya replied.

But he didn't. He never told them about the bruised and fractured ribs. He didn't tell them about how he couldn't take a deep breath without feeling pain. He didn't tell them about the cough that continued to worsen. He didn't bother telling them about the fever that set in days later. He didn't think it mattered. He didn't think they'd care.

He didn't realize just how wrong he was.

xxxxx

"Solo?"

"Hmm?" He looked up from his place at the stove. He adjusted his apron so that it covered his dress shirt more.

"I'm going to pick up some bread from the bakery. He won't admit it but it's Illya's favorite. It should go well with your soup."

Napoleon nodded and went back to chopping up vegetables. "Where is the Iron Curtain anyway?"

"His room. I don't think he's feeling well. He's been sleeping a lot." She walked to the door and paused at the knob. "I don't think he's ever slept this much. He usually only catches a few hours at night."

"He took a hell of a beating. Even giants like him have to be sore after that. Give him some time, and I'm sure he'll be back to his normal hulking and sulking self."

"Maybe us fixing a big meal for him will help? Cheer him up a bit?"

"I don't know if he needs cheering up, but I'm sure even he can appreciate a good meal. Even Russians like their food." Gaby didn't look impressed at his quips. "Gaby, it'll be fine. Waverly isn't calling us out on a mission for another week or two. He'll be fine by then. And I'm sure he'll love that you thought of him and went out to get his favorites from the bakery. But you better go before he joins the land of the living again."

Gaby nodded and left, closing the door softly behind her to not wake Illya.

xxxxx

However, it didn't take long before Illya woke anyway thanks to a nasty coughing fit. He nearly fell out of bed from the force of it and gagged on phlegm in his throat. It took a few minutes for him to stop and catch his breath, just long enough to apparently catch Napoleon's attention.

"Peril?" he said, knocking on the door and entering the room.

Illya didn't hear him approach, still recovering from the coughing fit. He blinked and slowly focused on the intruder. His eyes eventually cleared and opened up to a sea of pink. He blinked again, taking in the frilly apron in front of him.

"Gaby?" he slurred. His fever had risen while asleep and everything felt foggy.

"Not even close, Illya."

"Not Gaby?" He pushed himself up in bed; he tried to ignore the coughs for the moment. "Where's Gaby? Who took Gaby?"

"Peril? What's wrong with you? She popped off to the bakery. She'll be—"

"Need to find Gaby. Not safe. Need to find—cough!" Illya started get out of bed despite the cough, and would have succeeded had Napoleon not grabbed him around the shoulders and chest. "Ahh," Illya groaned in between hacks. Napoleon's hands dug into the tender area around his ribs as she tried to keep Illya in bed.

"Okay, Illya," Napoleon sighed, pressing his hands against Illya's forehead and skin. "You're burning up. Come here—no stop trying to get up! Damn it, stay!"

"No! Need to find Gaby and—cough!"

Illya's shirt rode up in his struggle to move away from Napoleon, revealing the ugly purple bruises.

"What in the—Illya what happened?"

Illya didn't answer. He couldn't catch his breath in between coughs to respond. He let go of Napoleon so that he could bring his hands up to his face to stifle the coughing. A few moments later, his hand was stained red. Blood. His hand was splattered in blood.

"Illya!" Napoleon tugged on him, trying to get him to respond. "Hey!"

Illya slumped against his partner, gasping for breath. He couldn't respond, despite Napoleon's rising panic. His vision started to grey. Soon everything went black.

xxxxx

He woke to white and flashes of pink the next time. His vision was blurred yet again but his brain felt a little clearer. His head and chest still ached, but he could breath at least.

Something moved quickly at his side and the pink flashes became brighter, filling his vision. Whatever it was started yelling, speaking too fast for his brain to catch up.

"Did you hear a word I just said?"

He blinked and tried to focus. "Gaby?" he croaked, wincing.

Gaby sighed and seemed to deflate. Illya could finally focus on her face rather than the fluttering of her pink dress. She moved slower this time and grabbed some water. She helped lift his head and told him to take small sips. He listened; worried she would start yelling again.

"Thank you."

Gaby ran a hand through her messy hair. "How do you feel?"

"I'm fi—"

"Don't give me the 'I'm fine' bullshit. We know you don't feel fine. You coughed up blood, Illya. You have fractured ribs and a pretty bad case of pneumonia. None of that equals fine, especially when you choose to keep it from us!"

"I—"

"No! You caught pneumonia, which Solo thinks you probably were already on your way to catching after that little dip in the lake that you boys kept from me. Add broken ribs to it, and—"

"Give him a break, Gaby," Napoleon sighed as he entered Illya's hospital room. "I'm assuming he just woke up. At least let him get oriented before your verbally assault him."

"Solo?" Illya responded.

"The one and only." He took up a seat next to the bed. "Looks like even the Red Peril can be felled by fractured ribs." Illya groaned and tried to sit up, earning a gentle push from Gaby. "I'd listen to our girl, Illya. Take it easy for awhile and don't try to move yet. Doctors want you here a few days for antibiotics and rest."

"But—"

"Waverly has already been informed," Gaby interrupted. "He's only mad that you waved off the medics on site. We've been grounded from further missions until you are back to 100%."

"Sorry," Illya managed to quickly say.

Gaby sighed and leaned forward. She pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. "Just don't do it again. Let us help."

Illya nodded, not sure what to say to her. He wasn't sure he could promise her that. But he did try. While in the hospital, he did his best to listen to the doctors, even though he disagreed with the amount of rest they told him he would need. He had worked and trained in worse conditions than this. He should be fine. He could prove it to them once he got home.

Or so he thought…

"Couch. Now," Gaby all but ordered as soon as they entered their apartment.

"Gaby I—"

"Will listen to me and sit on that damn couch that I fixed up for you already." She glared at him with her hands on her hips.

Illya sighed and shuffled his way over to the makeshift bed she had set up on the couch. "Better?"

Gaby rolled her eyes at him but gently ran a hand over his shoulders. "Yes. I brought blankets and pillows in from your room, but if you need more please let me know."

"Thank you." Illya rubbed at his eyes tiredly and leaned against the pillows. Walking from the car and up the stairs into their flat had been more exhausting than he would like to admit. So much so that he didn't even notice Gaby placing the thick blanket over him. Nor did he realize how quickly he fell asleep once he was settled on the couch.

He didn't wake again until Napoleon was tossing things onto the nearby coffee table.

"Good evening, Spiashchaia Krasavitsa," Solo smirked.

"Huh?" Illya slurred, sitting up again.

"Sleeping Beauty? Don't tell me you've never heard of—ouch! Gaby!"

Gaby smiled sweetly, as if she hadn't just smacked Napoleon upside the head. "Be nice Solo. Illya's still sick. He's allowed to be a little slow on the uptake." She squeezed Illya's shoulder and sat down beside him.

"I am always nice. So nice I picked up some presents for our sick friend."

"What are you talking about Solo?" Illya sighed around a deep yawn.

"This." Napoleon grabbed the items from the coffee table and threw them onto Illya's lap.

" _Lord of the Rings? I Robot_? Steinbeck?"

"Books. Passed the bookstore on the way to the market. Figured you might like something other than Gaby's romance novels."

Illya flipped through the Lord of the Rings. "Thank you."

Napoleon nodded in acknowledgement before standing to turn on the television. An episode of Doctor Who was just starting and he chose to leave it alone. Illya rarely watched television unless it was the news, however he didn't comment. He tried to settle back and get comfortable again, but he struggled with a few hacking coughs.

"Come here," Gaby urged, tugging him so that his chest lay across her lap. She grabbed a pillow and helped prop him up on the edge of the arm so that he could breathe easier. Her fingers settled at the back of his neck, smoothing the fine hairs there. Napoleon settled at his feet, sending snarky comments about the smell yet never asking him to move.

Illya soon fell back asleep, resting with the rest of his team, his newfound friends.


End file.
